Signs
by Ammanalien
Summary: Sheppard searches for McKay in a landscape of destruction. HC and whumpy angst.
1. Chapter 1

Ch 1 Water

oOo

John

It was like walking through a t.v. news report.

Beirut... Baghdad, maybe. But, no... this was an alien city, on an alien planet, in the Pegasus galaxy. He picked his way through rubble and ragged people; a scent not unlike cordite hung in the air. Along with the unmistakable smells of blood and charred flesh. There were people; some sitting, some moving around dazed, some never going to move again. A woman whose face was peppered with tiny cuts, looked up at him when he passed. Sheppard could see the sparkling shards of glass still clinging to some of the wounds. She made no sound, but he could see that she was crying. Outrage welled up, at the carnage around him. He saw with relief that emergency teams were arriving, and he watched for a moment as a uniformed man, carefully draped a blanket over the shoulders of the weeping woman.

He was glad, not only that she was getting the care she needed but that now, he could continue his search. He felt a pang of selfishness, but his focus had to be on finding one person today.

He clicked his radio... "McKay, come in... This is Sheppard, are you recieving...?"

Of course the chances the scientist still had his radio were minute, but it was worth a try. He really needed to contact Atlantis, but the wormhole wasn't due to open for another hour. He would have to find Rodney and somehow get him to the gate by himself.

Sheppard was trying not to consider what might have become of McKay... he recognised the need to stay positive.

Looking around, he saw that most of the central tower and main administrative building was gone. In it's place was broken masonry and twisted metal. Fractured water pipes sprayed and John wondered with sudden, cold dread about gas pipes... did they have gas? He quickened his pace.

This was all that was left of the city's centre of learning. John well-remembered the impressive collection of buildings. It had been only an hour ago, that he had said goodbye to Rodney with a cheerful wave. They had called in on the city as a courtesy, to enquire if all was well. Then, at the invitation of the science minister, he and Rodney had toured a college and seen research labs. Rodney had been delighted to find himself back in academia, and had begged Elizabeth to let him stay on and do some digging in their vast archives.

"Just a couple of days...", he had pleaded, and she had laughed and called him 'the perpetual student'.

John had been happy, too. McKay had been working as if there was no tomorrow recently, and at least this was a change of pace for the scientist. The people of Almo were good friends to the Lanteans, they had helped each other through several crises since they first met, almost eight months ago.

But like many modern states, they had their problems. There were some who went against the peaceful majority and resorted to violence and terrorist acts to influence and attempt to overthrow the elected government.

Maybe this was what had happened here, on this sunny, spring afternoon.

He rounded a corner, if you could call it a corner... a flight of stone steps that used to lead somewhere, now standing alone surrounded by shattered glass and brick.

A flash of white caught his eye. An injured man, clearly unconscious... burned face and blackened clothing. But around his arm... a white bandage, with the gray of a standard issue field dressing peeping out.

Looking up, Sheppard scanned the area, three sixty degrees. Nothing.

Then he looked down and saw the empty water bottle with it's familiar blue and white label, now empty.

He smiled to himself...

_Rodney._

oOo

Rodney

The sounds came first.

Shouts of panic; screams that were so intense that it hurt to hear them; something that sounded like an alarm, ringing away to his left.

He heard a creaking and shifting noise above him, as if someone was moving furniture across a wooden floor.

Smells next; rubber - burning rubber... and fireworks.

Then he moved his right arm, and light instantly and painfully flashed into both his eyes. He must have been shielding his eyes with his arm, laying curled up on his left side. His belly was pressed uncomfortably against something, he pulled himself away backwards with a grunt, feeling the pressure relieved.

Now laying on his back he found himself looking up into a tangle of metal and splintered wood, to the sky beyond. His pack was still on his back - he could feel it lumpy and hard beneath him.

Events were drifting back to him; he had been waiting for Volio, in a small office, housed in an old, stone building. The cheery, little soul who was head of the physical science wing, had sent Rodney ahead to secure himself a pass. Hearing the first blasts go off, he had moved to the doorway but did not make it outside, before the world around him lit up in a flash, muting his hearing and slamming him to the floor.

How long ago that happened, he was unsure, but he felt it had been maybe less than ten minutes.

Looking around more carefully he found that he was in a kind of alcove, in between the doorway and the stairs. The remains of the ornate metal staircase now hung dangerously above him - that had been the sound he had heard. He had enough wits about him to scramble to his hands and knees and, shuffling back, he edged out of the alcove.

The sun outside was bright, for indeed he was now outside. Most of one wall of the stone-built building had been blown completely away.

He lurched to his feet. His body felt like it was bruised a fair bit, but he didn't think he was too badly off. He could see no rescuers, as yet...

"Doctor... McKay..."

It was Volio. He was sitting on the ground a few feet from where the door once stood. What clothing he still had, hung like rags upon him. He was blackened and obviously suffering from burns.

"Hey... Take it easy..."

"I am so sorry... My people are shamed... ", tears smudged their way down his sooty cheeks.

Rodney's eyes were drawn to the man's left upper arm; it looked like raw meat from shoulder to elbow.

Kneeling, he quickly shrugged off his pack. From an outer pocket he pulled out antiseptic spray and bandages, and dropped them on the ground. He thrust his hand into the main body of the pack, retrieving a bottle of water. Volio now had his eyes closed, his face twisted into a grimace of pain.

Rodney set to cleaning and bandaging the burned limb, mumbling to himself as he worked, "Okay... wash... antiseptic... cover with a dressing..."

When he had finished, he gave Volio the small amount of water that was left, and then discarded the empty plastic bottle.

After re-packing his stuff, he raised his head and climbed stiffly to his feet. Still no sign of any emergency services, although he could detect the distant whine of sirens. He was beginning to feel somewhat wooly headed and found that his thoughts were drifting.

_Where am I going?_

"Many more need help... You must go... ", rasped out Volio, sounding like the old man that he was.

Rodney looked blankly down at him and thought, _yes, I must go_... so he shouldered his pack and moved on.

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading... what do you think? All comments gratefully recieved!


	2. Chapter 2

oOo

Ch 2 Ruler

oOo

John

When Rodney went on his first off world mission with Sheppard's new team, his pack had been so heavy that the scientist had staggered through the stargate, bowed over like an old man. John had quickly called a halt and yanked it from McKay's back, none too gently. Ripping it open, he first peered inside and then began throwing out most of what Rodney had carefully placed in there.

He ignored McKay's splutters of protest.

"You can pick it up on the way back."

Rodney had looked mournfully at the pile of discarded items: Most of it was extra food, but there was also a fluffy pink towel, several metal spoons, a large box of toothpicks, a mirror, no less than four graphic novels and a very old wooden ruler.

John's face twisted into a puzzled look, as he held up the ruler...

"Why...?"

"My lucky ruler...? Because I may need to measure something, what do you think?... also, it's useful..."

"How?"

Rodney snatched it from him and after flinging his arm up, brought the ruler down between his shoulder blades.

"... for scratching my back..."

Rodney paused with the stick raised, as if in deep thought, then...

"..it's also pretty good as a shoe horn." and he twirled it around briefly before he stuck out his right heel and poked the piece of wood down between foot and boot. McKay froze like that, with his left arm out, for balance.

Sheppard just stared. Ford and Teyla regarded McKay blankly, very much as they might watch the antics of a lunatic.

Demonstration now over, he whipped the ruler from his boot, waggled it at them...and then indicated his pile of belongings.

"For _emergencies_, you know? Never can tell what you might need..."

"What possible emergency calls for _tooth picks_?"

As Rodney huffed and hauled his lighter pack up and onto his back again, he turned to glare at John.

"A _tooth_ emergency, I guess...", was the petulant reply.

Turned out that McKay obediently left his stuff on the ground that day, but took the ruler; and, as far as John knew, he'd had it in his pack every mission since - along with a truck load of superfluous crap that had somehow found it's way back in.

Occasionally he had seen the lucky ruler, usually laid carefully on one side as the scientist rummaged for something he had misplaced, but sometimes he'd seen it used to chase down a stubborn itch, and had watched McKay's rapturous expression as he raked it across his back.

Seeing it here and now, though, poking from a ragged sleeve, brought John up sharply, as he recognised it immediately as being the property of one Canadian scientist.

A kind of trail wound its way through the ruins, where the ground was clear and uncluttered, and it was this that John had been following; he hoped that Rodney had been swept along this trail and he would eventually meet up with his wandering friend.

He had come a good way past the burned man, having left him in the care of the now advancing rescue teams; Sheppard wondered if, somewhere up ahead, McKay was also being taken care of.

He had seen the white flag of the standard issue bandages first. Then, as he jogged closer, he saw Rodney's lucky charm, splinting the forearm of a young man in a lab coat.

Looking pale and sweaty, the man, who was probably in his early twenties, was lying on his back, spreadeagled, with his left arm and shoulder pinned by a heavy piece of steel. Other pieces of metal were lying around, their edges twisted and curled, as if a machine had exploded outwards. He was lying in a muddy puddle of what looked like water and oil. The remains of some kind of generator lay behind the fragments of metal.

It was to the right arm that the ruler had been lashed; not elegantly done by any means, but the binding looked secure.

_He must be close now..._

Sheppard once again scanned around...

"You are looking for someone...", came a weak voice.

Sheppard knelt quickly, ignoring the wet ground.

"Help's coming.", he said and laid his hand on a shivering shoulder.

He almost smiled as he noticed for the first time the pink bulk supporting his head... McKay's towel.

"One dressed in the same manner as you, set my arm..." the young man's eyes slid shut, and John had to lean close to hear, "Not long ..."

"Which way?"

Unable to signal by any other method, the man raised his wet head and jerked weakly towards the left.

John whispered a 'thankyou' to the now unconscious man, and then jumped up.

"Hey! Here! Someone's trapped here!" he shouted over his shoulder.

He waited until he was sure that a team was on their way, and then he took to the path once more.

oOo

Rodney

He had a stomach ache, a stitch in his side... was it hunger? He couldn't remember when he had last eaten. Not that he could have eaten anything right now, with the smells of death all around him.

It was hot; the sun was bright, and if he'd had the energy he would have taken off his jacket. He felt like he'd been wandering through this derelict landscape all his life. Maybe he'd cracked his head back there, because he was having trouble stringing two thoughts together.

Smoke was rising, in some places quite thickly, and he wondered what was burning... how all this had happened... whether it had been deliberate or accidental... if it -

He stopped suddenly, just in time to avoid stepping on the body in front of him. A man, dressed in white - or what had been white but was now dirtied and gray - lay flat on his back, his clothes soaked through with dirty water.

Dropping to a crouch, McKay found a neck pulse, and took a closer look.

His arm was exposed, the sleeve rolled up, and Rodney guessed the man had used his teeth to accomplish that, immobilised as he was. The arm was discoloured... blotched in red and purple, and the hand white and limp. But the most disturbing thing, was that the contours of the limb were all wrong; as if badly drawn by an artist, the outline that should have been smooth and curved was now angular and deformed.

Even Rodney could tell; it was broken.

Brown eyes flickered open... and locked onto his, desperation evident..

"I'm a healer... a surgeon. I cannot feel this hand." and he looked askance at the dead-looking limb."You have to pull out the step in the bone, and then I will feel... and all will be well."

His other arm, Rodney had seen immediately, was pinned by a metal beam from the shoulder down.

"What about...?", and Rodney could only indicate with a bob of the head, the limb that was obviously trapped.

The doctor looked away, then said in a tight but determined voice.

"It is my right hand that I can save... the left...", and his next breath caught, "the left, I will not think of now."

The beam was huge... no way was it moveable without lifting equipment. One arm broken, one arm buried and probably broken. Injuries that would be devastating to a surgeon. The poor guy knew it, too, Rodney thought. The young doctor had pain written across his pinched face, but there was also a fear that Rodney could identify with; how to live when your reason for living has gone.

Rodney looked around him, trying to locate the med teams he knew should be arriving by now.

"Please.. you must do it now, or it will be in vain."

"I-I can't... I'm not a doctor... not your kind, anyway... I'll find someone...", Rodney stammered and made to rise.

"No! Please.. you must do this _now_... I beg you..."

McKay looked at the arm, at the man and lastly down at his own two hands. He dropped his pack, knelt quickly and sighed,

"Alright.What do I do?"

"Hold at the elbow.. yes, like that.. now, the wrist... I will try to control the angle and the force, but you will have to hold my wrist while I pull back."

Well, he was ready... grasping at the elbow and the wrist, he watched the young man shift slightly, and then with a cry he pulled himself to the left, effectively popping out the misplaced bone. Rodney could feel it shift and scrape, as he pressed down, trying to keep the hand still.

As the doctor fell back exhausted, Rodney was amazed to feel a change in the hand he was holding...

It was warming up.

A smile lit Rodney's features, "It worked! How does it feel?"

The doctor wore his own grin, and panted, "It is agony... and I thank you for it."

Rodney thought for a moment, and then snapped open his pack.

"Here...", and he gently raised the man's head with one hand and slipped in the makeshift pillow with the other.

Next he settled back on his heels, pulled over the pack and began rummaging for supplies; he would need a splint of some kind and more bandages...

He brightened... he knew exactly what to use as a splint...

oOo

TBC and thanks for your reviews... they do make a difference!


	3. Chapter 3

Ch 3 Epinephrine

oOo

John

It wasn't long before John was confronted by another sign:

A field pack, tipped over and flattened, it's contents strewn around and discarded.

He was standing in an area of clear ground between two buildings, one of which was still standing, although it's windows were out. The other, however, was damaged and had lost part of one wall. He could hear water running inside the building and smoke curled slowly from a hole in the floor. He could see two bearers with an occupied stretcher, moving away towards red-painted vehicles, some distance away.

He crouched and sifted through the odd collection... he snorted when he spied one particular item.

_Damn toothpicks,_ he chuckled.

Keeping his eyes and ears open, he hastily re-stuffed the pack, and swung it over one shoulder to rest next to his own.

As he did so, he caught sight of something familiar, and his heart did a nervous flip-flop...

_Surely not... no lemons here..._

An empty epi pen holder, with it's bright yellow cap, lay in a corner near the broken down wall.

oOo

4 Rodney

The contents of his pack seemed to explode forth in a rush, a huge selection of items both military and otherwise now lay on the wet ground. Say what you like, but Rodney McKay was a good boy scout; he was always prepared.

He fumbled his hands desperately through the pile.

_There! There it was.._

Snatching up the yellow capped tube and unscrewing it quickly, he grabbed the young woman's shoulder.

"Do you have this? Is this what you need? Epinephrine... adrenaline...? Stimulates the heart, helps you breathe...?"

He was shaking her shoulder violently trying to get her to focus on him, on the vital question he was asking. They were human... Carson had said so... hadn't he? He really should start paying attention in briefings.

But she just made ever more strangled wheezing sounds, her face and lips changing from pasty white to blue.

He had staggered around jagged debris and broken glass, trying to find the source of the shrill calls for help.

She was sitting upright but tipped forward, gasping out, "Help... help..." as her outstretched hands seemed to desperately search for something. Both legs were covered in blood and the right one looked twisted; probably broken. She was picking through rubble and dirt, whispering, "Where is it? Where..?", hearing her scratchy, laboured breathing, he thought he knew what she was looking for.

But he found nothing nearby.. no purse, no bag... no jacket pocket, or desk drawer.

He had to do it, there was no other choice - stick her with this or watch her asphyxiate.

There was a pop and then a click as he snapped off the top and jammed it, hard, into her bloody thigh. Breaking the silence between them, he counted out loud to ten and then threw the injector aside.

_Oh, God, I hope I did the right thing... _

Relaxing the hold he still had on her shoulder he let her slump back, against a broken tiled wall, thinking she should probably be upright.

Maybe twenty seconds had passed since he had given the epinephrine, and Rodney now watched anxiously for signs of recovery. He laid his fingers on her neck, moving minutely until he found the pulse point. It told him nothing of course, he wasn't a medic and only knew how to administer the epi pen, not what happened after. At least she was still alive, the pulse knocking against his fingers.

Suddenly... sounds of scrambling behind him, voices raised, but this time cool, efficient voices, snapping orders, asking for equipment.

Medics and emergency teams crawled like ants through the devastation.

One man dressed in a gray uniform and carrying a heavy holdall, was closely followed by another bearing a stretcher. They approached McKay, who was still kneeling beside the injured woman.

Rodney quickly cast around for the discarded injector. Spying it behind him he lunged for it.

"Do not be alarmed. We are here to help..." said the one with the holdall. "Can you tell...?"

But McKay cut him off, "Wait!"

He opened his palm and showed the epi pen to the medic.

"I think she was having an asthma attack... I mean, trouble breathing, turning blue, wheezing, you know? I - I- gave her this... it's epi... adrenaline... a hormone... makes your heart race, increases breathing effort - I think..."

Exasperated by his own lack of knowledge and inability to explain, he sputtered to a halt, and could only look desperately at the woman's face. He almost did a double-take when he saw that her lips were no longer blue and that, although obviously unconscious, her breathing was quieter.

Stretcher man had laid down his burden and must have been assessing the woman as Rodney was speaking. Now he turned to his partner.

"Her lungs were closing..." and now he pointed to Rodney's hand. "I think this man gave her a stimulant, probably Malvon."

He looked at Rodney and smiled, "It has helped, Sir."

Sighing his relief, Rodney let the injector roll from his hand and he sat back on his heels with a jerk

Stretcher man looked at him with concern.

"Are you injured?" he asked, placing a hand gently on McKay's arm.

Rodney blinked and just shook his head. He suddenly wanted to get away from this place. He lurched abruptly to his feet.

"I - I need to go... back. Just take care of her.." and he gave a final look to the woman, who was now on the stretcher attached to what Rodney thought was some kind of alien oxygen machine.

"Will she be alright?"

"I can't be sure, but she is stable now and we'll look after her. You probably saved her life..." said the man, glancing at his patient.

"Now, you need to come...", but when he looked back to where the woman's saviour had been standing, McKay was already gone.

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading...


	4. Chapter 4

Contains a graphic death.

Ch 4 Jacket

oOo

John

He stopped... could go no further at that moment; what was in front of him had brought him to an unsteady halt.

It _was_ Rodney's jacket, he was certain of that... the colour and insignia unmistakable.

Was it possible that McKay had an allergic reaction? Had someone found the scientist and covered him reverently with his own jacket? Could his friend be dead? Is this how it would end?

All these questions buzzed through Sheppard's head, as he stood not ten feet from the shrouded body on the ground. The jacket covered everything from the waist up, and John felt fear crawling in his belly.

_Go over there, John. Lift a corner... have a peep... go on... Find out who it is..._

_Find that it is, in fact, your team mate, that your search is over, and that today you will bring another friend home in a body bag._

He had to make a real effort, at that point, not to descend into despair, and he deliberately dropped the two field packs and prepared himself to face, what was at that point, his greatest fear:

That he was too late...

oOo

Rodney

He first heard of it when he was making peanut butter sandwiches, in the kitchen, and nobody knew. He had tipped out all the bread onto the counter, selected two nice pieces, and was using a steak knife to spread the golden stickiness. He had almost got the lacerated sandwich to his mouth, when his mother's voice came drifting along the hallway.

Quickly ducking into the pantry, clutching the flapping crusts, he closed the door noiselessly behind him hoping that his mother wouldn't need tea bags, which were on the shelf right by his nose.

Two familiar voices, entered the kitchen with a clatter.

His heart sank when he realised Mrs Parry was with her... he could be trapped in the pantry for days.

Mrs Parry was upset; she was wailing like a cat at midnight.

_Wail_...

"It was horrible... his eyes bugged out... and the _sound_, Rose.. "

_Wail..._

Rodney leant on the door and it opened a tiny crack, his left eye stuck itself sideways to the gap.

Mrs Parry had both of her hands around her own throat and was twisting them back and forth. Her mouth hung open and her tongue lolled. Her eyes rolled around her head - Rodney thought she was trying and failing to go cross-eyed.

His mother was frantically putting on _coffee_ (Thank God, he thought), all the while watching her neighbour nervously as if she was a bomb about to go off.

"Then the doctor said, "Listen, Laverne. It's the death rattle..."", and Mrs Parry nodded her coiffured head gravely.

She leant forward and grasped his mother's hand in hers; Rodney thought he detected a flinch on his mother's part.

"There's no other sound on earth like the death rattle of a soul on it's way to redemption.", she pronounced, dabbing at her weasel eyes.

"Now, now, Laverne...", soothed Rose McKay, " ...you just take as long as you need, honey.", and she skillfully extricated her hand.

Rodney groaned...

Good thing he'd had that sandwich... it was going to be a long night.

It wasn't until some years later that a ten year old Rodney had asked his cousin, Victor, about the fascinating and also terrifying subject of death.

Victor was a socially maladjusted fourteen year old... with a moustache. Rodney was afraid he might admire and aspire to be like Victor, but he didn't have the confidence - or the facial hair.

Victor's smile was poisonous; "If they hear that noise, they know you're gonna croak. My dad says, that's when they close the curtains and call the preacher."

At the time, Rodney had hoped never to hear the sound for himself, but here he was now, by the side of a total stranger, and he knew for certain that was exactly what he was hearing.

The man was middle aged, balding, and wore a smart suit of clothes. These, however, were irreparably marred by the metal pole that had impaled him through the chest.

With blood at his lips and trembling dreadfully, he had gasped out words. Most of them, Rodney didn't understand; a name... Mishka, was it?

Rodney was holding a pale, cold hand not wanting to desert this man, but feeling like an intruder at this most intimately personal event...

Because the man was dying... should have been dead already; that he had survived this long was just cruel chance.

After the words, came desperate, short breaths followed by agonisingly long exhales, accompanied by a horrible rending sound that Rodney found almost impossible to bear.

At last, though, the shuddering ended and the man was still.

McKay lay the slack hand down gently. Maybe he could have found help for this man, but he had arrived only in time to witness his broken last words and his painful passing.

The staring eyes were the worst thing. They looked straight at him, wide open in death as they had been in those final moments of life.

He felt a whimper begin, somewhere in his throat, deep and painful, and his heart faltered, as if wanting to stop. He swallowed, trying to prevent the strangled sound from leaving his lips. He was afraid that if it got out, it would be more of a scream than a whimper.

His limbs shaking, he squirmed out of his jacket, hesitating before moving towards the body. In one quick movement he threw the jacket, and the eyes no longer stared through him.

Rodney could go no further, for the time being at least. He had walked away from what had been the main cluster of buildings, and was in a ruined courtyard garden, it's blooms faded by a layer of brick dust.

He found a red, padded chair in a flower bed and eased his aching body into it. Now facing away from the destruction, he could see a copse of trees beyond iron railings, and he felt the painful vice on his heart relax a little.

Trying desperately to get his thoughts in order, he let his head drop forward into his hands. He could smell the tang of old blood on them, and he grimaced. He had lost the ability to think. What to do now seemed an easy enough question, but try as he might, his mind would not engage in order to answer it.

Whatever had spurred him on half an hour ago, had now evaporated leaving him exhausted and at the very end of his endurance. The blood on his fingers testified to his struggles to save others, but now it was he himself that needed saving, and there was no one here to take on that burden. Sheppard would be in Atlantis now, knowing nothing of the day's events. He could expect no rescue from there - not in the near future anyway.

_I want to go home_, he thought.

_Someone... show me home..._

Earlier he had felt the sun warm on his back, now he was chilled, and he felt a shiver rattle through him.

"Sir, can you walk?"

"Come with us..."

"Turlow, find a bearer..."

Blinking, he realised he was no longer alone...

...and suddenly, in a startling revelation that made his chest hurt and his eyes prickle, he wished John Sheppard was there.

Never had he missed Sheppard so much; he would take charge, send all these people away, no more crap would have to be dealt with today.

Many things were muddled for Rodney right now, but one thing he knew...John would get him home, of that he was certain.

"I don't need this.. just wanna go.. home. Where is it?"

He knew he wasn't making sense and it frustrated him, his face twisted and he rubbed frantically at his forehead, as if it would help unjumble his scrambled brain. His headache had escalated, if that was even possible. He remembered having a stitch in his side like the one he had now, years ago, after downing a full bottle of ice cold soda. But he knew he'd done no such thing recently, as his mouth felt paper dry and his thirst was abominable.

He thought for a moment of the water in his pack, but after checking by patting listlessly at his shoulders, he found he no longer had it.

_John's gonna be mad with you..._

He felt rather than saw two of the figures advance toward him. Others were hauling stretchers and he could see more of the paraphenalia of hospitals and doctors, that he just could not deal with now.

Summoning all his strength and outrage, he shouted,

"No!", which to his relief, saw the gray-coated figures draw back - probably to regroup, he thought... they would be back, no doubt, with hypodermics ready.

"Don't... touch me... don't.."

He just didn't want to be_ taken_. They were trying to take him somewhere.. somewhere that wasn't home, and McKay knew, that without John, he would have to find his own way...

...and then quiet words fell into his consciousness, and he thought maybe, just maybe, he would be saved.

"Hey, buddy... what's up?"

oOo

TBC and thankyou for your encouraging reviews...


	5. Chapter 5

oOo

Ch 5 Sliver

John

Two figures in gray were standing over another in blue, who was seated.

The seated figure was McKay; John saw a familiar blue shirt, upon a curved back, and relief hit him solidly in the chest.

Rodney was turned slightly away, and John could only see the side of his face. He was sitting hunched forward in an office chair - a plain old swivel office chair - looking almost relaxed, his arms laid across his knees, hands hanging loose.

Then, taking John completely by surprise, Rodney threw back his head and screamed, 'No!' in such a way that the others around him all took several steps backward.

John, on the other hand, went forward, drawing level with the two medics.

"Don't... touch me.. don't.."

"Hey, buddy... what's up?" he said softly.

"Sheppard...? is'at you?", came the unsteady response.

"Yeah, it's me. Are you hurt?" John was edging closer, his hands indicating to the medics to back off.

McKay turned, the chair swinging around slowly until John could see the man's face properly for the first time.

Rodney was shockingly pale, looking to John like he was on the verge of collapse. He wore a desolate expression, but when he realised it truly was Sheppard, it crumbled into one of exhausted elation, and his eyes turned bright with tears.

"God...I need... you're here...", he said in a broken voice, interspersed with sobs, "..how did..?"

"It's okay...", John said immediately, and his hand came down and clasped Rodney's arm warmly, "You don't have to say anything. Wanna go home?"

He recieved a rapid nodding in reply and John realised that his friend was probably in shock, his body trembling and his eyes unfocussed, looking too big for his face.

Sheppard stepped back and waited for Rodney to rise. But he didn't, he only sat motionless, staring across at his discarded Atlantis jacket and the bulky shape beneath.

Sheppard crouched down, into Rodney's line of sight, eyes now level with his friend's. Taking off his own jacket, he wrapped it around the shoulders of the scientist, saying quietly, almost in a whisper...

"Rodney? Can you come... now... with me?"

Another slow nod and then McKay stared into his eyes as if trying to communicate, just by the force of that desperate stare. He seemed to be having some trouble comprehending what John was saying or making any response. He fisted both hands in the fabric of John's shirt sleeves, and stammered out,

"I l-lost... m-my gear..."

John shook his head, dismissing the comment, saying smoothly, "It's okay... not important."

He carefully helped the dazed man to thread his arms through the jacket sleeves. His dark shirt was dirty and torn, and flapped a little, as if it had been snagged on something. His pants were wet at the knees and looked filthy. Sheppard did a quick visual check for signs of injury, but found nothing obvious. McKay was disoriented and could maybe have knocked his head, but on the whole, he looked unhurt - he was certainly better off than many others who survived the day.

"Come on.", Sheppard said, and held out a hand for Rodney to take.

McKay seemed to rally a little, and said, "Hope your jumper's.. parked around back.."

"Sorry, McKay..", and he really was, "... we'll be walking home."

Rodney latched on to the offered hand and slowly pulled himself to standing. John noticed his eyes slide around to the body on the ground.

"I couldn't save him."

"No", was all John could say.

"Can we go now?", came the familiar whiny tone that John was glad to hear, and he smiled.

"Yes, we can go now, Rodney."

oOo

The scene was still horrific, but John could see that the Almans were coping. He had talked to a security chief, and had been assured that things were well in hand. He promised a team of engineers for as long as they required them, and recieved suitable thanks. But Sheppard got the impression that the Almans, being embarrassed by the event, were anxious to be rid of the Lanteans, at least for the time being.

Incredibly, only forty minutes had passed since the blasts had brought John running back from his journey to the gate.

He glanced over at Rodney. The scientist was leaning against a low wall, perched half on top and listing to one side. He watched as a water bottle was brought unsteadily to his lips, and a few mouthfuls gulped down; a power bar lay untouched on the wall beside him.

It was forty-five minutes to the gate at a brisk walking speed; with Rodney, it could be more like ninety.

John considered leaving McKay there, to be tended to by the medics, while he ran back to the gate and called for help from Atlantis. But after taking another long look at Rodney, seeing his red-rimmed haunted eyes and watching him jump at every shadow, he knew Rodney would not allow it - they should stay together.

Hopefully, he'd be able to get McKay back to the gate, and if not, they would go as far as they could, and then sit tight and wait for Atlantis to call.

Atlantis would open a worm hole, according to standard protocols, in about fifty minutes. He would wait for radio contact and then have Carson and a team meet them.

"Ready?", he asked, shouldering both their packs.

Rodney nodded his assent, and pushed himself reluctantly away from the wall.

oOo

At first Rodney had done quite well, keeping up with John's slow but steady pace. But over the past ten minutes, he had been stumbling, causing John to take up position at his shoulder, to provide some stability. Even so, Rodney would not let John take his arm, shrugging off every attempt he made, so that he could only watch and offer the occasional steadying touch.

The trail took them on a roughly straight course to their destination, the stargate. More or less unused for centuries, the wide path bordered by short grass, with rolling hills and trees beyond, was overgrown in some places, but always passable. There were no signs of habitation and no one around, as ordinary folk would have no reason to come this way.

They had been walking for a little over twenty minutes, mostly in companionable silence. The daylight was already fading, and John remembered this planet's short days and nights.

Abruptly, Rodney stopped.

Looking sideways, John could see his shadowy outline swaying, and he was shocked to hear the wheezing of his breathing in the quiet twilight, and the shiny sweat on his brow.

Something wasn't right; this was more than exhaustion, more than shock alone.

"What is it? McKay? Talk to me...", he ordered.

"Don't feel so good..."

John quickly guided him to a grassy bank. "Sit down for a minute... tell me.", he prompted.

"Feel kinda sick..."

He grimaced momentarily, and stiffened, which didn't go unnoticed, and John asked, immediately, "What hurts?"

"Belly...", was all the man said, before he pitched sideways without warning.

John grabbed at shirt fabric and jacket, catching him and lowering him slowly to the grass.

John's fingers pressed beneath McKay's jawline, and with relief he found a swiftly beating pulse. Carefully pushing the unconscious man onto his back, John grabbed both their packs and used them to elevate Rodney's legs.

Now his attention was drawn to the tears in the scientist's shirt he had noticed earlier, and it was with trepidation that he raised the tattered hem, and squinted at Rodney's left side in the swiftly fading light.

It was no good... too dark to see, so he went straight to the front pocket of McKay's pack and pulled out the flashlight he knew would be there.

Popping it on, he again scrutinised the pale skin of Rodney's flank.

He drew in a sharp breath, and then let it out, dread filling him..

There was a hole in McKay's abdomen, above the point of his left hip. No bigger than a dime, a little blood had leaked out staining the skin dark red.

_Oh, God..._

There was something protruding from the wound. He had almost missed it, it was so small.

A thin piece of... something, glinting in the beam of the flash light.

He angled the light to see more...

A sliver of dark metal.

He hadn't seen it; Rodney's shirt was torn, he was limping, pale and shocky, and John hadn't put it all together; a sliver of dark metal, against a dark shirt, made even darker by dried blood.

How had McKay not known, and gone on for so long?

The answer must have been adrenaline: John knew the effects it could have on the body, how soldiers would carry on, on the battle field, only to find themselves badly injured once back to safety.

When Sheppard gently pressed around the entry wound, he found the skin tight and more blood welled up, and he realised that Rodney had been slowly bleeding into his belly since the explosions.

There was no way to tell how long this.. spike... was, short of pulling the thing out, which of course he knew he couldn't.

He daren't move Rodney now, not when he could see that any small movement might cause worse damage, or start catastrophic bleeding. Neither could he leave him alone, and attempt to either reach the stargate, or return to the city

If Atlantis stuck to procedure, which he was certain they would, then the gate would open in - he checked his watch - twenty-four minutes, to check up on them.

All he could do was wait...

...and in the mean time, try to keep Rodney alive.

oOo

TBC and thanks for sticking with me!


	6. Chapter 6

Just a short one to keep you going...

oOo

Ch 6 Umbrella

John

He had been almost to the gate when he'd heard the blasts and felt the ground vibrate beneath his feet. John had been in enough conflicts to know that what he was witnessing wasn't an earthquake. He stood on a small hillock and watched a pall of smoke rise from the college area, and found his feet were running back towards the city before the conscious thought had even entered his head.

Looking out again, this time from a different hill, John no longer saw smoke, but instead, lights were blinking on, and the sky beyond was orange.

He rubbed at his upper arms; the air was cooling and he was glad of his long sleeved shirt.

Behind him, laying almost where he had fallen just minutes before, was McKay. At his side, a fire crackled merrily. He had acquired an extra t shirt and sweater, both from John's pack, but in spite of all this, was still shivering, with his hands up to his chin, grasping two emergency blankets.

After his collapse John had, of course, begun to unpack medical supplies and was intending to apply dressings and such, to Rodney's wound. But with the med kit open and after snapping on gloves, he realised that he could not risk doing more damage, and therefore had abandoned the idea, at least until he could talk to Carson. In any case, there didn't seem to be a lot to gain by slapping a bandage on a wound that was bleeding internally.

Moving back to the fire, he turned his wrist watch into the flickering light...

_Any time now would be good_, he thought.

A soft groan rose up from the other side of the fire.

Moving around the fire, John crouched down at McKay's feet, and reached into his pack. He pulled out water and a package of white pills. Scrambling up to the man's head, he saw that he was awake, blinking slowly at the sky.

"The stars are out...", came a scratchy voice.

"Yeah... here... take these."

Rodney made no attempt to move, so John placed the water bottle down, and lifted the scientist's head. He carefully pushed the pills past the pale lips, and followed it up with a sip of water.

"So what's wrong with me?", said Rodney wearily, head now back against his plump field pack.

"You, um... poked your side.", said John evasively, sketching in the air with a finger.

_"Poked...?"_

"Well, got skewered, is maybe..."

"_What?!_" squeeked Rodney, alarmed, "Where is it..?", and he began to raise his head and pull at the blankets.

"Will you keep still!", shouted an exasperated Sheppard.

"I want to see it..."

"Just stop...! Now look, I don't want you to panic, okay?"

"I'm already panicking..."

Rodney's breathing was shallow and fast, and Sheppard could see his hands trembling where they held the edge of the blanket.

"Yeah, well... yeah... I guess you are..", he couldn't argue with that.

"So...?", prodded McKay...

Suddenly, a familiar crackle at his ear, and...

"This is Atlantis... Colonel Sheppard, please respond... I repeat, this..."

Jumping up, John smacked at his ear and couldn't help his sigh of relief - they were early.

"Atlantis.. Sheppard here. I have a medical emergency, McKay needs Beckett."

"John?" it was Elizabeth's voice, "Beckett's being called. What else do you need?"

Sheppard took a split second to thank God for Elizabeth Weir... trusting and supportive as ever.

John could see Rodney's eyes glittering in the fire light and was very aware of him listening intently.

"Rodney's injury.. " he began, and then looked away from the scientist purposefully, " .. means I can't move him. I'll need a jumper to pick us up and a medical team.. Oh, and Elizabeth? Ask Major Lorne to put together a team of engineers... The Almans could use them."

"I'll take care of it - here's Beckett."

And again, John was thankful she didn't waste time with questions.

"Colonel... tell me about Rodney's condition."

"He has a puncture wound to his left side... a metal spike of some kind... but Doc?" and John quickly moved off into the shadows and lowered his voice, " ...it's still in there... and he's been bleeding... internally, for over an hour."

"Right.", came the brisk reply, "Keep him warm, hydrated and above all, keep him still - we don't want that foreign body moving."

"Don't worry, doc, I'm way ahead of you... just get here as quick as you can."

John strode up the hill once more but looked away from the city, into inky blackness, towards the gate.

"We must be... two or three miles from the gate? There's a clear path..."

There was a crackle and then another voice interrupted.

"Colonel, this is Lorne. We should be with you inside twenty minutes... Sir, are you in any danger right now?"

"Negative, Major...", he looked up into the sky, at the gathering clouds, and added, ruefully, "Well, only in danger of being rained on..."

"John... ?", it was Elizabeth's voice again, "We'll keep the gate open... both of you, just hold on. Weir out"

oOo

Something hissed into the fire.. once... and again. John stuck out his hands, palms up... it was raining.

"Great...", he muttered.

"What... now?"

"Nothing.. just... it's raining... a bit..."

Rodney looked sicker, more pale, and his face was shiny and damp. John was on one knee at the fire, building it up to a larger blaze, with some sturdy logs he had found. McKay swallowed loudly and said breathlessly,

"I have an umbrella..."

John felt his jaw drop.

"You're kidding... right?"

"Look in the long s-side pocket."

Carefully, John felt around the sides of the pack, and feeling a likely, solid shape he ripped open velcro, and drew out a small, telescopic umbrella; he held it up and smiled...

"Now I've seen everything."

"Sheppard..." There was no strength in that voice.

"Yeah... right here, what is it?", and fear prickled.

"I feel... sick, again."

John knew that vomiting could be disastrous.

"Okay... no puking, Rodney. Breathe through it... come on, deep breaths."

He hastily put down the umbrella, placed a hand on McKay's shoulder and willed the man's breathing to deepen and even out. Unconsciously, his own breathing did the same.

After a few seconds, he asked, "Better?"

A nod of the head, indicated it was.

"I think you should sleep, they'll be here soon."

John was unsure if that was good advice... but, if he was asleep he wouldn't feel nauseous, something that had to be avoided.

He watched as Rodney's eyes slid shut, and then busied himself preparing their small camp for a possible downpour. He gathered more wood and laid it near the fire and within reach; if he could keep a steady blaze going, then the rain might not quench it. The two packs he placed at Rodney's shoulders, one on each side.

Quickly, he made sure the edges of the emergency blankets were tucked in securely. Then gingerly, he lifted the sleeping man's head and slid himself under, his legs folding, until he sat cross-legged with McKay's head nestled in his lap. He raised and ruffled the umbrella and it was up in one smooth click. He took the flashlight from his pants pocket and popped it on.

By now, the rain was steady and soaking...

"Well, buddy...", he said aloud, "Now, I guess we wait..."

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading and reviewing...!


	7. Chapter 7

oOo

Ch 7 Rain

Rodney

There was a thumping... a pulse that filled his mind; his heart was beating loudly, blood rushing, pounding in his ears. He stuggled upwards through thick layers of fluff, and opened his eyes to a strange sight.

The clear view of the darkening and star filled sky, was gone. Now, it was starless, lit only by the beam of a flashlight reflecting off a myriad of raindrops that were falling steadily. Cutting into his view, was the outline of an unfurled navy blue umbrella, and the neck, chin and nose, of John Sheppard.

It took a second or two, but he put the pieces together; night had fallen, it had started raining, Rodney's head was lying in Sheppard's lap and he was holding the umbrella over both their heads. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his flashlight in John's other hand, resting on his knee, casting a diagonal beam across Rodney's field of vision.

He was warm... at least, his head and shoulders were. The rest of him, stretching out into the rain, was cold and senseless for the most part, a fact that had him a little worried.

There was a pressure, too, down in his belly. The crazy part was, it was making it hard to breathe; the pressure reached as far as his ribs and was creeping up. He felt as if he had the worst case of gas ever - and he'd had some doozies, the remembrance of which made him want to giggle.

So, he had been _skewered, _as Sheppard very nicely put it. Didn't hurt much... just aching a little... and tight. My God, was he about to explode? Now that would be messy...

He suddenly realised that John was speaking, and had been for a while probably, his chin moving as his lips formed words that Rodney strained to hear. The rain drops rattled loudly on the umbrella, and all around there was the hiss of the rain hitting leaf and tree.

Was he talking to Atlantis? Maybe he was telling them not to hurry...that it was too late. Rodney's mind was woolly and his head vibrated sickeningly, but he realised only too well that he was in trouble. He felt weak, sick and dizzy; blood loss, he supposed. Had John managed to staunch the bleeding from his recent _skewering_? Of course he had, he assured himself. He tried to relax, knowing that however black things looked, Sheppard would get him home.

Words split off from the rain drops and pattered into his head...

"... and that was when I saw the jacket. You had me worried right then, McKay. Thought it was you, and I didn't...

Then they died away again, and all he could hear was the hard pelt of water all around, and he saw John's lips moving soundlessly above him.

The pattern of the sparkly drops dancing in the light was mesmerising.

Some fast... some slow; the heavy, fat drops that collected and fell from the points of the umbrella, fell slowly, but glittered even more brightly...

"McKay..?"

A large, long face hung above his, upside down, startling him.

"You awake?"

"How long... asleep?"

He heard a low chuckle,

"About five minutes, Rodney - just a power nap, I guess."

_Only five minutes?_ It felt so much longer, and he felt so much worse.

"So, do you always carry an umbrella on missions? Or is it only when you've just washed your hair?", said John, and Rodney could hear the amusement in his voice.

"Oh... hardie ha-h..." but he couldn't get it out, because a tickle lodged itself at the back of his throat... he gasped and twitched his head up, about to cough.

"No, McKay..."

The beam of light disappeared. Suddenly there was a bottle at his lips and a hand under his head. The tickle was chased off by the coolness of the water, and Sheppard's steady, comforting voice:

"That's it... easy now... _still_, keep still."

His head was laid gently down, and Rodney blinked away the mist that had gathered in his eyes.

John had the umbrella caught between his shoulder and neck, his head almost held horizontal. He'd dropped the flash light a minute ago, but now McKay watched as he scooped it back up and directed it beneath the blankets. Was he checking the dressing? It was odd though... he couldn't really feel the bulkiness of a dressing. But then, of course, he couldn't feel much of anything down there.

Nevertheless, he was puzzled... something didn't feel right.

"What... is this? No c-coughing... no puking... what c-can I do?", he croaked, indignantly.

John let the blanket rustle back in place, dropped the flash light and turned away as if unable to meet his eyes.

Was it _worse_ than just a skewering?

_What could be worse than being skewered?, _he thought.

"What else...? What else is wrong?", he asked, suddenly sure that something important was being kept from him.

"Look", and John let out a huge sigh, "You mustn't move... you got stuck by a piece of metal, and the thing is... it's still in there, Rodney"

So that was it... no wonder he lay where he had dropped, no wonder sharp movements were out, no wonder he couldn't feel a dressing - 'cos they hadn't been able to use one.

"Oh, God...", horror gripped him... horror that something murderous was still inside him, and that the safety he'd felt minutes earlier, had been snatched away.

He felt cool hands frame his face... cool, steady hands.

"Rodney look at me... it's going to be okay... Beckett's coming. You just have to be still is all, understand?", Sheppard's voice was soothing, but firm.

He felt paralysed by fear - no chance he'd be moving any time soon.

"Come on, McKay... focus. Tell me about the first guy. The old guy... remember?", he coaxed, softly. He was again clutching the umbrella with one hand, the other was still laid lightly against Rodney's cheek.

Rodney looked up blankly. The words had gone in, they'd even been understood, but all he could think about, was how good that hand felt, how much better he felt with it there, and that he didn't want it to move.

He felt suddenly - horribly - emotional... after everything that had happened, the people he'd encountered, his injury, John finding him... he was spent, he had no more stoicism to employ. He wanted to cling to Sheppard's hand and bawl like a child. He was admitting to himself that he could very well die here, and he felt his throat choke him and his lip wobble.

Sheppard's face loomed very near...

"Rodney... it's alright...", and as McKay's eyes squeezed shut, he was aware of the hand sweep up his cheek and come around, to lie solidly against his forehead, where the thump of pain was now incessant.

It was strange, but John seemed to know exactly what he was thinking:

"This isn't how it ends. Trust me... okay? Now, tell me... who was he...?"

Somehow, the even tone of Sheppard's voice and the absolute confidence it inspired, the closeness of another human being, and most of all, the presence of that hand, calmed him and he found himself thinking back to the events of the day... to the stone built office... to the wizened but happy face of Volio.

"H-he was my guide..."

"You bandaged him up pretty good. Carson would be proud..."

As he spoke, John's hand moved slightly, back and forth, back and forth...

"You know, you left a trail - a child could have followed it."

... his fingers rubbed at the pressure in McKay's temples...

"Huh?"

Rodney was finding it hard to think, something that should have terrified him but, oddly, he didn't really care.

Sheppard was balancing the umbrella again and withdrew his hand. The water bottle was brought to Rodney's lips. He had little strength left, and even drinking was exhausting.

John went on...

"Well... bandages, a water bottle, your lucky ruler, an epi-pen and your uniform jacket."

For a second or two, Rodney felt cool, searching fingers curl beneath his jaw.

_I wonder what that tells him?_ he thought.

_That I'm slowly bleeding to death and there's nothing anyone can do about it_, he answered himself.

Once again the voice led him on...

"Okay, so... the ruler?"

"A doctor... s-surgeon" , and in his head he was back there, kneeling on dirty ground, feeling the bones shift and finally lock.

Sheppard's hand was resting now on his neck, and Rodney imagined his pulse beating doggedly against those fingers.

"I talked to him. He said you fixed his arm... nice going, McKay. How about the epi-pen?"

"A woman... asthma... suff-suff- _suff_ocating...", and Rodney, at that moment, felt like _he_ was, leaving him gasping and struggling for breath.

"Take it easy... you're okay"

The hand was back, smoothing across his forehead, focussing him, keeping him afloat.

"My turn to talk, now, McKay... you just listen..."

Rodney felt his breathing slow and he blinked his eyes open. The hand was whisked away again. There was a _click, whoosh_ and the umbrella was gone. He looked up to a clear, dark sky filled with stars.

The rain had stopped.

oOo

"I saw your jacket... thought it was you at first."

The umbrella lay on the ground, it's job done. Rodney was holding the flash light now - well, not really holding; John had wrapped the senseless fingers of his left hand around it - as Sheppard poked at the fire with a blackened branch.

"You did?", he asked breathlessly. His breathing had worsened and he knew he probably shouldn't be talking.

"Yeah..."

"I was... too late"

"You did what you could." said Sheppard, his voice carefully neutral.

The despondency of that moment when the man had breathed his last breath, came back to McKay, and it stung.

"I just wanted... to save him... I wish I could have saved him..."

John gave him a strange look, but said nothing.

Rodney watched him lean over, pick up another bundle of sticks and toss them onto the fire. Sparks erupted and flew upwards, illuminating his face and showing it to be thoughtful and sombre.

"It's my job to protect people. I'm usually pretty good at it, actually. But once you start it's hard to stop. It's the best feeling... to save a life. It's a high, no doubt about it. Maybe it gets to be an addiction... once you start making a difference, you feel invincible - like you can save everyone. But you and I both know you really can't do that, and so every life you lose or see lost, is more bitter, more intolerable."

He dropped his head and looked at Rodney now, and a smile twisted his mouth.

"You did good today, Rodney, you should be proud. You helped save three lives... and you made sure that a stranger didn't have to die alone..."

"...you're a hero."

Indignation sparked in Rodney.

"Don't make f-fun of me...", he said quickly, and it sounded pathetically weak to his ears: he would have snapped the words at Sheppard, if a bloodless husk could have snapped.

But when he saw John's serious face, he realised that the man had been in earnest.

"I'm not. Believe me... I'm not.", Sheppard said quietly, leaning over and wiping at the cold sweat on Rodney's brow with a scrap of bandage.

As the colonel checked his watch for the umpteenth time, Rodney saw Sheppard's head suddenly snap up. He raised the index finger of his right hand and a slow smile crept across his face.

"Listen...", he said, ".. they're here..."

oOo

TBC and sorry for my apparent personal fixation with hands...! All my fics seem to feature them in a big way. Maybe one day I should write a 'Hand' series...!


	8. Chapter 8

oOo

Ch 8 Vigil

John

"Here! Over here!"

In the darkness, he could see ghostly figures advancing. He saw the outline of the jumper behind, it's engines humming and lights glowing, as if shining through mist. The figures were lumbering from side to side, obviously weighed down by equipment and dark against the light spilling from the open hatch.

"Glad you could make it, doc."

He couldn't remember when he'd been so relieved to see someone.

" Is'at... Cars'n?"

"Aye, laddie, we'll have you fixed up in no time."

Boxes and bags were dropped, their packs were whisked away... the fire doused. Lights flickered on. Carson knelt on the wet ground but paid it no heed. His hands were already moving questingly, his staff cutting away McKay's clothing and substituting warmed blankets and IV lines.

"Now, Rodney, tell me how you feel. Can ye open yer eyes?"

Rodney's eyes remained closed, but he managed to gasp out an answer.

"C-cold... think 'm... dying."

There was a ripple of disquiet through the small huddle of people, and Carson's face betrayed his concern.

"No, Rodney, you're not. But let's get you on some oxygen... it'll help yer breathing."

All was business and action, and through it all John sat motionless, cradling a damp head in his lap.

It was a cold night. He hadn't noticed it before. He could see his breath, feel his shirt cling icily to his back.

Lorne stood away, near the jumper and was talking into his radio. John saw him nod and then look up into the dark sky, as a second jumper sped by, towards the city.

_The engineers... good,_ he thought.

Teyla was there too, next to Lorne. They made brief eye contact and Teyla flashed him her usual dazzling smile, today though, tempered by worry.

Suddenly the chatter around him dissolved to nothing and was replaced by tight expressions and purposeful actions; the mood had changed dramatically in an instant.

"What is it?"

Carson shot him a worried look, but said nothing.

"Carson?"

The doctor was up to his elbows in a holdall. He pulled out sterile packs and tubing. There were clipped exchanges between the medical personnel.

John caught the words, _cyanotic_, _cavity_ and _drain_. None of them sounded good.

He realised, belatedly, that Rodney had also gone quiet. In the glare of the portable lights, he saw that McKay's lips were bluish beneath the oxygen mask, and that now he hardly drew in breath at all.

Panic gripped John...

"Rodney? Hey!"

Suddenly, there was Carson, leaning in close.

"Colonel, it's okay. We know what to do."

Carson had grabbed both his arms and locked his eyes with John's. Still though, in the periphery of his vision he could see green sheets being laid, hear gloves snapping on and then watched as a nurse swabbed across Rodney's belly with iodine.

"I need to know, son... can you stay for this or do we move ye?"

"What..?", the words puzzled John, and he shook his head slowly.

"We can't wait - Rodney can't wait. We have to go in now and relieve the pressure. D'ye understand, John?"

Beckett's expression looked doubtful, and he began to turn away, "Janine? Get the colonel -"

"No... I'm staying, doc.", he said, and tried to will his determination across to Beckett.

"Okay", answered the doctor, and then Carson's hands latched onto his own, and firmly he felt them being pulled down to rest on either side of Rodney's head.

"Hold him still. Talk to him.", and Beckett moved away.

Distantly he heard someone say, "Doctor, there could be movement in the wound..", and Beckett's terse reply, "We have to risk it. This lad's out of time."

Putting all else from his mind; the freezing cold, his cramping legs and especially the surgical intervention unfolding right in front of him, he hunched forward, dropping his head and focussing only on McKay.

Sheppard swallowed, and looked down at his team mate. He found Rodney's face screwed up tight, his lips bluer still, and his breaths, when he had them, rasped and choked; tears leaked from the corners of his eyes... he was obviously terrified.

"I know you're scared...", he let his eyes drift up, but then snatched them back down again, not wanting to see what was going on.

"Hell - me too... But you're almost through this, almost home. Don't give up. We're all here for you. Carson... Teyla... Lorne... Me. Fight McKay... don't stop fighting..."

There was no response from Rodney during all this. Then, suddenly, he flinched and a huge shudder ran through him. John could feel it in his cramped legs and under the fingers that held Rodney's head.

There was a collective sigh from the whole surgical team, and after a long moment, Carson announced, "Well done everyone. Let's get him home."

It was incredible... Rodney breathed easier, his colour was returning.

_Oh, Thank God_, he thought.

"You can let go now, John. We're moving him."

John looked up to see Beckett kneeling next to him again; the doctor's gloved hands were red, and now, after everything, this was enough to turn his stomach; suddenly, he wanted to throw up.

Sharply, Carson asked, "Are you alright? Look at me", he ordered.

He felt Rodney lifted away, even as he blinked and focussed his eyes to stare at Beckett, blankly.

"Janine... warmed blankets for the colonel and I need a core temp, please."

Something was poked in his ear, and a warm weight settled on his back and shoulders; the warmth seemed to burn him.

Carson laid his fingers against his wrist, and tutted loudly, "Did you know you were borderline hypothermic? Silly lad, too busy watching after your friend to notice.", but there was no real sting to his words.

The doctor began rubbing at John's blanket draped arms briskly, still kneeling in front of him.

"How is he, d-doc?", and at last he felt the shivers begin.

"He's holding his own... he's a tough old bird, that one. We'll know more when we get him home"

The nurse was unravelling a mask and tubing, and Sheppard realised who it was for.

"What's this? I don't need..."

The doctor interrupted him, "We have an extra O2 warmer, so you may as well use it."

The mask was over his face in a flash, and as the nurse adjusted the straps, John peered over Carson's shoulder and saw McKay being loaded into the jumper; an entourage of medics and their equipment followed him in.

"Now, d'ye think ye can stand?" Carson looked dubiously at Sheppard's crossed legs. John followed his gaze, and nodded his answer.

"It's okay, I can do it... my butt's numb and frozen to the ground... but I'm good."

But, apparently, either Carson didn't hear him or he simply didn't believe him, because in seconds he was being hauled to his feet by two strong arms, one on either side. He looked to his left and saw Lorne.

"Shouldn't you be flying, Major?", he asked as his legs folded and swung disconcertingly under him as the two men took all his weight.

"Yes, Sir, I will be... but first I'm getting you on board", replied the major, and John could see he carried the oxygen tank.

They made their way slowly to the jumper, John's legs burning and tingling as feeling returned. They were almost there when suddenly, he stopped.

"Wait... Carson... Rodney's umbrella... and his pack.?", turning back, he scanned the area around the smouldering fire for their stuff.

Then Lorne said, quickly, "I have both yours and Dr McKay's packs, Sir... in the jumper"

"But the umbrella?", he persisted.

John did not miss the confused looks exchanged by his two helpers.

A shadow passed them and stooped near the fire.

The figure approached and now John could see, by the light of the jumper, it was Teyla.

She rolled up the umbrella, popped the stud, and handed it to John.

"Now we have everything important...", and her eyes flickered meaningfully to the open hatch.

"Now... we can go home."

oOo

TBC and thanks for your reviews!

Just so you know, I have no real medical knowledge... sorry!


	9. Chapter 9

oOo

Ch 9 Peperami

John

The infirmary was a comfortable twenty-one degrees to everyone else, but John was still shivering. Doctor Cole had said he could go, back to his quarters... rest up.. sleep.

He didn't need to stay. Only here he was, wandering through the labs and treatment areas, a blanket still glued to his shoulders, padding along in woolly socks and stretchy paper slippers.

He kept finding himself outside a set of double doors: the operating room where Rodney had been rushed not an hour ago.

It was funny, but he couldn't remember the jumper ride back. He remembered sinking onto one of the bench seats inside the crowded ship. A vague, but oddly painful, knot of worry for his team mate niggled at him, and he wanted to ask again about Rodney's condition. By now he was carrying his own oxygen, along with the umbrella, Lorne having gone forward to take up the pilot's duties. John took it as a sign of his own exhaustion that this fact did not concern him.

He must have closed his eyes for a second, fully intending to shout down the jumper for Carson, but the new feeling of warmth allowed tired and stiff muscles to relax. The next thing he saw, through bleary eyes, was the image of a moving Atlantis ceiling.

Someone said, "Go back to sleep, colonel.", and he did. When next he surfaced, he was installed in an infirmary bed, hooked up to several of Carson's baby-sitting devices, weighted down by heavy blankets. He was glad to see no IV lines, and feel no embarrassing intrusions elsewhere. Voices had caught his ear...

"What about Colonel Sheppard?" - That was Elizabeth...

"He's asleep right now. He had a mild case of hypothermia, but responded well - he'll have no ill effects." - The next voice sounded like Doctor Cole.

"And Dr McKay?"

"I don't know yet.. I'm sorry - but he's in the best hands"

That's when he'd pulled off his monitor leads and taken to wandering. The petite blonde doctor soon found him, chastised him soundly for his recklessness, before pronouncing him fit enough to leave.

To be fair, he had intended to do just that; Ronon came by with some of his clothes, promised to return in twenty minutes to 'collect' him. But after staring at the pile of clothes for a while, and then staring at the double doors, he pulled on a scruffy sweat shirt, replaced his blanket, and put the rest of the clothes in his bedside cabinet.

Then he returned to his measuring of the floor, pace by pace.

He was just arriving back at his bed, having completed another circuit, when his foot bumped against something; it was his field pack.

It was lying tucked underneath the bed, hidden from sight by dangling bed sheets; just next to it, was Rodney's.

He snaffled both and heaved them onto his own bed, where he sat, legs splayed out, with the packs in front of him. He had found the umbrella, along with the flashlight, earlier, on his night stand and now he reached for the wrapped umbrella, meaning to replace it in Rodney's pack. Velcro ripped and he began feeding the stubby end into the narrow pocket. But it wouldn't go; something was preventing it.

John pulled out a foil wrapped peperami sausage...

"eat by: Nov '05", he murmured aloud.

He couldn't resist a snigger, as he shook his head and lobbed the festering sausage across the room and into the garbage pail. But then the smile faded, as again his thoughts were dragged away to the closed double doors and the surgery going on within.

He replaced the umbrella soberly, folding down the flap and then turned the bag, making sure all the other pockets were fastened. Reaching for the flashlight, he put it back in it's appointed place, smiling to himself when he remembered how he had unerringly selected the right pocket earlier, when he'd been desperate for light. He never would have considered the scientist to be well prepared and organised, but now that he thought about it, he and his pack had come to the aid of the team on several occasions; sunscreen; snacks; band-aids; and the list went on.

He assumed all the stuff he'd found discarded earlier was still in there. Maybe he should check it. A long time ago he had berated the scientist for carrying around worthless junk; today he had been proven wrong, and had seen a courageous side of Rodney McKay, a side he always knew was there, but had never seen demonstrated.

He paused with his hands still on the scientist's pack, and then he slid off the bed dragging it with him, by it's straps. He placed it on the chair next to his bed. He couldn't bring himself to open it, and he wasn't sure why.

Was it something about personal privacy? More likely it showed that John was depending on the scientist's return to health and consequently, he would watch while McKay opened it himself, most probably griping all the while for his lost gear.

Returning stiffly to his bed he lay back, idly scratching at one ankle where the wool irritated, and he thought how great it would be right now, to be irritated by one immodest, Canadian scientist.

oOo

He must have dozed again, and he awoke feeling dry-mouthed and angry at his own weakness. The infirmary was quiet, he and Rodney being the only guests.

The squeaky entrance of a wheeled bed had him sitting upright quickly. It was Carson and a nurse, both decked out in surgical gowns and caps, masks hanging loosely around their necks. They were pushing an unconscious and wire strewn, Rodney McKay.

"Carson..how is he?"

Beckett did a bit of a double take.

"You still here lad? Y'alright?", he asked, tiredly.

"Yes, yes..", he dismissed the doctor's concern, "But how's McKay?"

Beckett sighed and snatched off his cap, crumpling it in his palm, knuckles white.

"He's poorly just now, John. We removed the sliver, repaired the damage... but there's infection, which is unfortunate, given his weakened condition. But he'll get through this, I'm sure."

While the nurse settled her patient, Carson turned to John, his eyes narrow and appraising.

"I suppose ye'll be wantin te stay?"

John said nothing but it was apparently enough for the psychic doctor.

"For a while only, colonel..", he announced briskly, " ..what Rodney needs is rest, and so do you."

As he gave McKay a final check, Carson said, "I'll have Katie, here, keep an eye on you... _both_ of you."

oOo

_Really should get dressed_, he thought.

He looked down at the pale blue scrub pants, navy sweater and gray security blanket that was his present outfit. Elizabeth had been by, she had patted Rodney's hand and hadn't asked why John was still sitting at his bed side, dressed like a vagrant. Scratting once more at his itchy ankles, he returned to his contemplation of the man beside him.

All at once, mumbles emanated from the bed.

"No... m'not... don't... _Sheppard_!"

This last, was delivered in a high-pitched croak, that broke in the middle and ended in a sob.

John leapt immediately to his feet and leaned over Rodney.

He was white-faced and sweaty, his hands were up and plucking ineffectually at his face, snagging against the oxygen mask that was over mouth and nose.

"Don't c-cover me... ", and his head moved from side to side, weakly,"..m'not dead.."

John tried to hold down the quaking shoulders and considered calling for help. Suddenly, though, Rodney's eyes flew open, and John could see now that the man really was out of it... the glassy, unfocussed eyes looked, but did not register his presence; maybe Rodney saw someone, but it was not John.

"Take me home... they're looking for me...", his hands had now latched onto John's arms, and his head was up. Sheppard could see his neck muscles tense.

"Sssh... come on, McKay... you're home now..."

"Can't stay...", but he was already flagging, his shoulders sagged under John's fingers and his arms fell back slackly to lie at his sides. He took some halting breaths, and gave a few deep exhales.

A nurse appeared at Sheppard's elbow and wordlessly handed the colonel a damp cloth. At first he stared down at it, puzzled. Then he heard a tutting from the nurse and he met her eyes; she nodded her head towards her feverish patient, and, as the light dawned, John coloured slightly, embarrasssed he hadn't caught on quicker.

He laid the cloth against McKay's hot forehead, and looking sideways witnessed the nurse discarding an empty syringe in a tray and carefully adjusting Rodney's IV.

"He should sleep soundly for a good while now, sir. Why don't you go have something to eat?", she said kindly, as she lifted Rodney's wrist and glanced at her watch.

She gave him a second or two, as he considered, and she counted; but then she laid down the hand and said almost reluctantly,

"To be honest, sir.. Dr Beckett said I should insist..", and she looked sheepishly at him.

John saw that McKay had settled and decided suddenly that he was, actually, very hungry.

"I can come back though, right?", it almost sounded like begging.

"Yes, sir, of course", she answered warmly. As she turned to leave she glanced back...

"...but you might want to get dressed first, sir."

oOo

TBC and thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

oOo

Ch 10 Paperclips

Rodney

There were thoughts... disjointed pieces... drifting through his mind. Some were his own, but some seemed to float in unbidden from elsewhere.

He thought of suffering and a great disaster; being with people he hardly knew, and them needing him.

He thought of pain and a journey down into confusion and sickness; someone holding his face in their hands, a voice whispering comfort, though the words were unfamiliar and uttered by a stranger.

He thought of friendship; the quiet support of one who understood his fears and was there, standing at his shoulder, to face them.

His thoughts brought him back to a wasteland of destruction, where he wandered cold and alone, the sky in turmoil above him and all around the sounds of suffering and pain. He curled up on the ground, just wishing for it all to end; even if the ending brought nothing but death... then so be it.

His eyes closed, the sound of his breathing grew louder, more desperate; was he dying then? A shadow fell across his closed eyes and dark fabric settled heavily over his face. It smelled familiar... dusty, sweaty and familiar.

They were covering him with his own jacket, and fear awoke in him...

"No... m'not... don't..."

He was stifled, choking, couldn't breathe in or out...

He wasn't dead, he didn't want to die, it wasn't the end...

_This isn't how it ends, trust me..._

He called out to the one person he trusted completely... had always trusted.

"Sheppard!"

And there he was, right next to him.

"John... please... don't cover me... I'm not dead..."

He was gabbling now, and he found he was clinging to Sheppard, holding on with all he had.

"Take me home... they're looking for me... can't stay..."

He still held on, fingers curled. Even so, John and everything around him was beginning to fade out, the ground swung up to meet him sickeningly, colours swirled and then muted, and then suddenly... he was alone again.

Now there was no sound and the desperate wailing cries had gone. Rodney thought fleetingly that such terrible emptiness, should not feel so damn comfortable.

But he was wrapped in a haze of warmth, unreal but compelling, and he felt his mind quietly detach itself.

Soon his thoughts ebbed away and he was left empty, feeling nothing at all.

oOo

The box teetered on the edge... it was going to go... pointless really to try and stop it.

In slow motion it fell and automatically Rodney reached to save it. Too late, of course and a hundred shiny paper clips exploded onto the floor.

Now, he was down on his knees, picking them up one at a time, only there must have been more than a hundred, because they were everywhere... some were sticking to his hands... he shook them off, pulled them off... but they were sticky and _sharp_...

How some had landed in his lap, he didn't know; but somehow they were there and... _damn.. _if they didn't poke at him and _hurt _like the blazes.

He tried plucking them out, desperate to be rid of them.

Then someone said, sharply, "Grab his hands.. he'll have those staples out!"

_Not staples, you idiot, paper clips,_ he thought irritably.

He wondered then if maybe he wasn't on the floor at all. It felt like he was lying down, on something soft.. but he couldn't move his arms.

"Open your eyes, Rodney."

_They are open_, he said to himself, again irritated by blatant stupidity.

"Can you catch what he's saying, colonel?"

_What? I'm not saying anything... are you all demented?_ he thought.

"I think he said he 'meant it'... well, I think that's what he said - it's barely a whisper", said the speaker, in an off-hand manner that Rodney found vaguely insulting.

_Why won't my arms move?_ he asked himself.

It registered suddenly, too, that he couldn't actually see anything and therefore, he had to concede, that his eyes perhaps were closed after all.

_Sorry, 'bout that,_ and so saying, he opened them.

"That's okay, son... at least now you're back with us", came the jovial reply, and McKay found himself blinking up into the amused, but infinitely reassuring face of Carson Beckett.

It now occurred to Rodney that in fact he was the one demented, as he hadn't realised he'd been speaking aloud the whole time.

It also occurred to him, that he felt like absolute _shit_; his head throbbed with a weird combination of pressure and heat that would almost have been interesting, if it hadn't been so unpleasant; it had become clear that some sadist really had stapled up his belly, and just the thought of it added to his nausea; and if that wasn't already enough, he was having a tough time breathing, even though he easily detected the oxygen mask covering his face.

"No more talking for a wee while, ye hear? You'll wear yerself out", said Carson gently, apparently noticing the breathing thing.

"Do as you're told, McKay.."

Rodney slid his eyes sideways and there he found Sheppard, looking whole but tired, leaning over the bed, elbows locked. Rodney let his eyes travel downwards, and he found to his surprise, that John had hold of his forearms, easily pinning him to the bed, keeping him from moving. They looked very white and thin under the harsh lighting and were both trailing IV lines.

Rodney saw John glance over at the Scottish doctor, "He's really hot, doc... I can feel it.", he said worriedly, and Rodney felt the grip on his arms disappear.

He tried to laugh.

_Did you just say I was hot? I'll need that in writing, you know...,_ he chuckled, drunkenly.

Carson's face loomed up again... he looked pissed.

"Stop talking.. really... " he ordered, then he in turn looked away and spoke to the colonel.

"He still has the devil of a fever, but it looks to be on it's way down. You can stay a while, but don't tire him out."

_'He' is right here, you know..._

Suddenly his two guardians appeared on either side of him and, hooking their arms beneath his, they hefted him upright against some hastily piled pillows. His equilibrium gone for a moment, Rodney closed his eyes, then felt a straw bob at his lips... Carson held a beaker, and Rodney eagerly drank, the coolness trickled down his scratchy throat - it was heaven.

"Now, ye can talk a bit - but take it slow and easy... okay?", said Carson, putting down the beaker, and re-settling his mask.

"'kay", he managed to say, and was quite proud of the volume he achieved.

He heard Carson tell John he'd be back in a while, and Rodney let his head sink into the crisp white pillows. So he was back... he'd made it. They had taken out that... thing, and then clipped him together like so much file paper.

Now he was upright he did feel a bit more alert, but he was still sweaty and breathless, and his eyes burned hellishly.

"I have a fever", came out as both a statement and a question.

John leaned forward, moving into his field of vision.

He looked kind of serious and ... worried?

"Seems like you have... Beckett said it was an infection"

"Oh... where's everyone?" He hadn't seen any of his team or indeed anyone but John and Carson since he'd awoken.

"Carson won't let them in yet. You're stuck with me"

He sighed..

"L-lucky me..."

oOo


	11. Chapter 11

oOo

Ch 11 Toothpicks

John

"Come on tell me about the tooth picks..."

"I told you ... tooth emergencies. Very handy... for strawberries. I like strawberries"

Sheppard was reclining, if you could use such a comfortable word for it, on his plastic chair, ankles crossed and propped on Rodney's bed.

Rodney, now sporting a nasal canula beneath his nose, was still sitting upright, albeit crookedly, as he was sifting through the contents of the blue back pack he had recently been reunited with.

John thought he looked stronger; Carson must have thought so too, as on his last visit he rid McKay of his uncomfortable oxygen mask. Lunch had been light, and Rodney ate half of the soup that was brought for him, and all the jello.

"Sorry Rodney, but I just don't buy it. Try again", and his eyes narrowed shrewdly.

Rodney gave a long-suffering sigh, and patted the box on his lap with what looked like real affection.

"Alright. It happened in Antarctica. There was a piece of alien tech... somehow, it cycled into overload. I could see right inside the casing, but couldn't open it. We needed to break all the circuits at once and only had the tiniest access spaces... we needed something small, thin, non-conducting...", he stopped to take a few rapid breaths.

"Also known as... toothpicks?", John provided.

Rodney nodded, swallowed, and went on.

"Obviously we didn't... I didn't," he corrected, "have any, so... had to do a re-think", his head dropped back against the pillows and his eyes closed.

Suddenly anxious, John said, "McKay? Y'alright..?"

"Just... give me a... moment.."

So he did, and after a good half minute during which Sheppard thought the story teller had fallen asleep, McKay's bleary eyes fixed on his and he continued.

"So, I ran with it... went top side... threw it into a canyon in the ice."

"You did? I don't believe it... really?", and John couldn't quite keep the amused admiration from his voice.

"You don't know the half of it... the tales... I could tell you", a weary smile was now on McKay's lips, but his shoulders rose and fell in time with his laboured breaths and John thought with a guilty pang that the man now looked exhausted.

"Have to be ready... always ready... 'f only.. had tooth picks... ", Rodney seemed to be rambling, his eyes were closed and John wondered if he actually was asleep.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, buddy.. you can't save everyone.", John said quietly, realising he'd said a similar thing to Rodney already today.

But then there came an unexpected and equally quiet answer, spoken on an exhale...

"Doesn't stop me trying."

Now there was silence and John knew that Rodney, like himself, was thinking back to opportunities missed and people lost.

They stayed like that for a while, in companionable silence, quietly supporting each other, like they always had.

oOo

Rodney

It was Carson hurrying in that tore Rodney from his thoughts.

"Alright, colonel, my patient needs to rest"

His heart sank; he really didn't want to be left alone, with nothing but his morose thoughts to keep him company. He saw that John was already half way out of his seat.

"Look.. Sheppard, don't go, 'm not that tired. So boring... being sick.", he looked hopefully at Beckett, who had been fussing with the lines and now stuck a thermometer in his ear.

Carson clicked his tongue, and smiled slowly.

"Well, your fever's coming down nicely... but that doesn't mean you don't need your rest.", he said the last, quite severely, and Rodney tried to look suitably hurt.

"Please, Carson..", and he took a moment to appreciate the expertly delivered whine.

"I'll be back in twenty minutes, and you...", he stabbed a finger at John, ".. had better be gone", and with that he stalked off.

A yawn came from nowhere and threatened to detach his jaw from the rest of his head.

He looked around owlishly,

"My pack.. where...?"

"Right here... in front of you, doofus..", said John, nodding to the large pack, that was still by his side.

It was big and heavy... comfortingly so. He ran his hands over the rough pocket flaps and broad straps. It would be re-stocked, he would make sure of that. There'd be a new towel, bandages, a new wooden ruler. He'd have his way this time.

"Have to be ready...", he said again.

"You can't fix everything, Rodney.. I thought you'd got that...", Sheppard said quietly.

McKay erupted with fiery indignation,

"Hey..! Genius here.. I might not be able to fix everything, but I'm all we've got. Besides... have some faith."

He had deflated somewhat towards the end of his outburst, the last few words mumbled, with his eyes downcast.

"I do have faith, Rodney.. and you constantly amaze me - especially with your modesty", and Rodney could hear the amusement in his voice.

"Yeah, well.. like I said.. ", and another huge yawn broke in, "...genius."

oOo

John

Sheppard rose from his chair, and announced, "Well, I'm off. You should get some rest. Carson'll be after me - Where'd he go off to anyway?", he asked and squinted down the length of the room towards the doctors office.

"I'll be back later, and if you're good, I'll bring you a surprise."

He stooped to grab his field pack, and swung it over one shoulder, turning to glance back at Rodney as he did so.

"Just do me a favour, McKay...?"

But Rodney was already asleep, his jaw hanging slightly open and snoring gently. He had nodded off with both hands still clutching his battered old pack.

John smiled and finished his sentence, "... never change", he whispered.

He stood quietly, and leaning over, turned off the bed light.

As he carefully lifted away the pack, Rodney's hands slid off and plopped gently down onto his chest.

John placed the precious pack on the chair, close at hand in case it should be needed, and headed to the mess hall in search of strawberries.

oOo

Well, that's it... hope you enjoyed it. I have to say again how wonderful all my reviewers are, I know it's a drag sometimes to take the time, but you are so kind and have helped me a lot with this fic... thanks a million!!


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